


Perceive

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 11:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4563393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo discovers things, like Thranduil and Legolas not being quite what Thorin thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perceive

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Preceive情愫 by yeaka(Translation in Chinese by HTTP)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6608044) by [HailTheTranslationParty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HailTheTranslationParty/pseuds/HailTheTranslationParty)



> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Publicly, Legolas and Thranduil's relations are formal and appropriate but at the end of the day, in private, they are very affectionate towards one another. Thranduil secretly loves to spoil his son and Legolas loves to make his father happy. Somewhere along the line their relations have got more than familial, something they hide very well in front of people but indulge in when alone. I'd love it if Thorin and his Company see one side of them (the appropriate father/son king/prince side) and Bilbo, while creeping around the halls with his Ring, accidentally sees the other side of them and he ends up thinking of the king and prince in a completely different way to Thorin and his Company” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/9471.html?thread=20415487#t20415487).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Legolas comes to the dungeons occasionally, passing by them in Tauriel’s absence, as though checking for her the state of her guards. The dwarves are all still in their cells, primarily because Bilbo hasn’t yet discovered how to get them out. He sits against Thorin’s bars, quickly donning his ring at Legolas’ approach, and Thorin’s ranting falls into bitter grumbles. He’s in the last cell, and Legolas stops there, lips thinning and eyes growing cold at the sight of the growling King Under the Mountain, whom elves seem to have little respect for. Secretly, Bilbo understands. As majestic and handsome as Thorin is, he gives the elves no respect in return. He’s just finished telling Bilbo of Thranduil’s vileness, evident, according to the dwarves, in everything from his spider-infested realm to his inability to smile at his son. The related dwarves that Bilbo’s seen are affectionate and loving with one another, and they seem to take great pride in picking apart their Elven counterparts, who speak to each other only one level above disdain. 

Bilbo, however, isn’t so sure. He’s spent much time among the elves in the past few days, hidden under the veil of invisibility and inadvertently spying more than he means. King Thranduil and Prince Legolas are indeed very formal and dry, but there are times when Bilbo’s seen a flicker of something _more_ between them, and he thinks there might be more to it. 

He follows Legolas now, because Legolas has free reign of the kingdom and is more likely to lead to some hidden exit than anyone else. As much as Bilbo loves to sit with Thorin, no matter the subject of conversation, he knows his first duty is to plot escape. Legolas seems a good chance of that, though today, he only leads to the wine cellars.

Bilbo just barely manages to slip inside before Legolas shuts the door, into the faded candlelight and the muffled roar of the river below. To Bilbo’s surprise, the usually crowded room is empty save for the king, straightening up from one mounted keg. A single glass is clutched in his hand. He lifts it to his lips as Legolas glances about, peering behind the slats and stacks of barrels, but Thranduil tells him, “We are alone.” 

Accepting it with a nod, Legolas goes closer to his father, leaving Bilbo alone at the door. The cellar is low-ceilinged for an Elven home, part wood and part stone, warm and somewhat welcoming. Stopping so near that their feet are touching, Legolas gently takes the glass from Thranduil’s hand, murmuring, “Ada, you should not drink so much.”

Legolas moves to place the glass on a nearby table, but Thranduil grips his wrist too soon, holding it between them. Wearing an elegant smirk, Thranduil purrs, “I was under the impression you enjoyed my playful side, my little leaf.”

Something about the nickname draws Bilbo’s attention. As usual, he feels guilty for intruding on something private, but he can’t help but take a silent step closer, wondering: _his little leaf?_ It doesn’t fit with Thorin’s description of them. 

“When we are alone, perhaps,” Legolas admits after a moment. He allows Thranduil to reclaim the glass, though another sip doesn’t come, and Legolas cautions, “Any elf could walk in.”

“And the door will open, and we will spring apart, as we always do,” Thranduil casually retorts. It makes Bilbo’s head tilt curiously, wondering—he’s seen that, a few times: what he’s sure was quick movements, hasty retreats. Legolas’ deep gaze doesn’t lessen, and Thranduil sighs, placing the glass down where Legolas might’ve. Instead, he lifts that hand to cup Legolas’ cheek, and Legolas leans handsomely into it, his own fingers rising to hold his father’s palm in place. It’s more than just an affectionate touch: it’s _intimate_ , soft and personal. Thranduil murmurs, “But I will cease if you should wish it.” At Legolas’ small smile, Thranduil’s grows, and he adds, full of promise, “Besides, I will want my wits about me when I give you your present tonight.”

“My present?” Legolas repeats, eyes flashing with something Bilbo can’t quite place. Bilbo doesn’t understand any more than Legolas does. How can Thranduil be as cruel as he seems, if he dotes gifts on his son? Legolas’ face says that they’re always thoughtful. 

But Thranduil answers only, “It is a surprise.”

“Will I be given it in your bedroom?” Legolas purrs, slinking, somehow, closer, though now they’re chest to chest—they’ll have to spring apart indeed if they want to keep up their image. Bilbo doesn’t _understand_. Even dwarves don’t stand that close, and he’s sure that this is father and son, yet there’s nothing innocent about Legolas’ voice, and less so about Thranduil’s eyes. 

Thranduil chuckles, “Yes, but it is not that.” Bilbo doesn’t know if he’s relieved or not. The very fact that Thranduil’s mind would go _there_ is a curious thing, if _there_ is where Bilbo thinks it. 

Legolas sighs, “You spoil me, Ada.”

“You deserve it,” Thranduil coos. “You make your father very happy.”

Legolas smiles wide. The _love_ is clear in him, love that Bilbo was sure he felt before but had trouble pinning down, and it’s clear now that they’ve been _trying_ to hide it, though why, Bilbo isn’t quite sure. Then Legolas lifts up on his toes, and Bilbo understands. 

Legolas presses his lips to Thranduil’s, and Thranduil’s hand slips back into Legolas’ hair, holding him still. The kisses is only chaste at first, but nothing familial, and then Thranduil deepens it, tossing his arm around Legolas’ waist and tilting his head, pushing forward. Their lips open, close again, and Bilbo can see the eager tongues working between them, kissing in such a way that Bilbo averts his eyes, even though his traitorous body doesn’t want him to. Each time he peeks through his fingers, they’re still kissing one another vigorously, until finally he hears Legolas murmur fondly, “You taste of wine.”

To Bilbo’s horror, Thranduil purrs, “Would you prefer to taste other parts of me?”

“It is late,” Legolas laughs, sounding not the least bit put out by the suggestion. “We should retire—and not solely because I wish to have my present.”

Thranduil grins his acquiescence and leans forward to rub his nose against Legolas’, far sweeter than Bilbo would’ve ever thought him. Legolas slips his fingers into Thranduil’s, dropping their hands to their sides, and belatedly glances at the wine. 

“Perhaps we should dump the half-emptied barrel down the hatch before we leave to hide my transgression,” Thranduil idly suggests, clearly joking, as he’s the king and needs to hide nothing. Legolas smiles and kisses his father’s nose but doesn’t answer. He guides Thranduil towards the door instead, Thranduil following. 

Bilbo steps out of the way to watch them pass, noting how their hands fall apart before they slip outside into the open dungeons. Bilbo’s seen enough that wasn’t meant for him: he doesn’t follow. 

At first, he thinks of wandering back to Thorin and insisting that Thorin has them all wrong. But then, he’s in something of a _state_ right now, and perhaps it’s best he stay alone. His feelings are very confused, as elves are wont to make him, but this is wholly unexpected and too much for a gentle hobbit to take. 

Bilbo’s just about to leave to somewhere or other when he freezes, glancing back at the trap door Thranduil spoke of, which drops the empty barrels into the river. Then Bilbo sits down to think. All in all, it’s been a mistake thoroughly worth mulling over, and when he finally springs up again, everything was worth it.


End file.
